November 11, 2017, that's when it all started as close as I can figure based on how long it takes people to die once their sick. The people I've seen get sick, it's so...quick. First it was homeless people who didn't show up to their usual corners, there wasn't big fuss about that though. Why would there be? Unless you were like Bri no one cared what happened to those people. There was this one guy who used to do magic tricks in the park for kids, they loved it, he always had his cart full of props and after he was done with this show he'd make balloon animals for the kids. I always loved magic and I caught a few of his shows while I was on lunch, he was good. Then he just wasn't there one day, or the next day, or the next day. And he wasn't the only one. Bri told me that there were less and less people coming to the shelter every day. Which was odd because there were several of my employees that had called in for a couple of days and then just stopped calling. There were some CDC PSA's talking about a virus going around and to stay indoors to limit exposure. Of course I went to Bri's apartment instead of home.

The first news reports hit about a week later talking about disappearances all around the world, in the beginning the police assumed it was some sort of global cult slaughtering entire families for human sacrifices, but they had no idea what happened to the bodies. Men. Women. Children. All slaughtered in their beds, pieces left behind but no bodies. At least in the first reports. A few days later is when the stories got really weird, or at least they seemed weird at the time, in hospitals people coming in with those high fevers from the virus were dying and seemed to come back to life, people were attacking other people in airports trying to bite them, and there were stories of police shooting suspects with dozens of rounds and they just kept coming.

The reports came in quickly and steadily all across the globe for a solid week maybe two and then slowly but surely there was nothing but static. That was about a day before the lights went out, we made a night of eating the rest of the ice cream in her fridge. But winter in Boston is cold and with no power and that was when it really hit me for the first time that life was never going to be the same.

We spent the rest of our time in Boston gathering supplies, fighting the dead, fighting wild animals, even Mrs. Kinney's dog Buster attacked us one day, he almost got me pretty good but Bri stopped him before he got a bite. I don't think I'd ever been so scared in my life up to that point.

Four months of hell, four months of gathering, four month of survival and we're finally on our way to Michigan. I've only got one job in this mess and she's all I care about. She's all I've ever cared about, I mean really cared about.

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart Parking Lot

With his Ruger in his hand Grant cautiously made his way toward the Walmart entrance listening for any sort of movement from within. He was anxious to get out of the cold, it was freezing outside and there was just enough snow on the ground to make a crunch under your shoes as you stepped. When his nose started to run he didn't want to sniffle so he quickly ran his gloved hand under his nose and then his glove on his pants. He shifted his eyes slightly behind him to see if Bri had seen but he couldn't really tell, not that it mattered he supposed. He was tired of being cold and he knew she had to be cold. This would be a good place to stock up on basically everything assuming it hadn't been picked clean yet, or the rats hadn't gotten to all the food. But it wasn't a big town and he couldn't imagine that many people had survived or passed through here yet.

He stopped suddenly and held his hand up for Bri to stop. With wide but focused eyes he surveyed the area. There was a noise that came from near the building but it turned out just to be a fat raccoon jump into the dumpster.

Nothing.

He turned to Bri, "I think we're good." His breath visible in the cold air as he spoke. He looked back toward the store to and took a few more steps until the doors came into view, they were in tact. "Well look at that," he relaxed and looked at her with a smile, "looks like it's our lucky day." He holstered his gun and approached the doors as quietly as possible.

March 15, 2018
Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart Parking Lot

"No…" She paused at the doors, scrubbing at her cold, raw nose as she peered through the dirty glass. "…we don't get lucky days, Grant. Not anymore."

Sometimes, Briana envied Grant. She looked over her shoulder at her best friend's casual smile, the strength in his stance, the tiny glimmer of optimism in his eyes, but the quiet admiration she felt for his attitude never made it past the hot, brittle anxiety that crackled day and night under the surface of her mind. Even now, she couldn't help quickly scanning the horizon behind him, checking left and right, nerves on fire.

That's how it was for her now. Fear, dread, constantly on edge, always just on the cusp of fight-or-flight. Four months of it had pulled her seams apart and sewn the frayed pieces into something she barely recognized. Ironically, only when trouble actually hit them did Bri feel anything like herself. It was everything in between the obstacles, the quiet times that she couldn't seem to handle, and they'd seen a lot of that in Framingham, Mass. But more and more, she found herself wishing for chaos, even as she feared it.
At least a risen attack gave her something to focus on.

"C'mon, let's see what's left," Bri motioned, pushing and pulling at the front doors, but it was clear they were locked from the inside. Hmm. Obstacle. Thank God. "Mm." Immediately, she backed up, a handful of scenarios flashing quickly through her thoughts. Locked doors, no broken glass, could be it was simply closed down before the chaos and hadn't seen survivors. Or it was occupied already, someone else's safe haven, but then wouldn't there be guards or deterrents against others? No signs of serious damage to the outside, only three parked cars in the parking lot, doors wide open, odds that they'd be inside the store were fairly high. Odds they were infected and risen were even higher.

"Maybe a side door, or…a loading bay or something?" She approached the corner with caution, rounding it slowly, prepared for anything. She didn't get far before Grant stepped in front of her, weapon ready. He'd always been protective, even before The Outbreak, and there was never a day she wasn't grateful for his efforts, although when she was in the zone and trying to accomplish something, sometimes it messed with her focus.

But right now? Bri let him go first. They were working on it, slowly, but her skill with a weapon was still very low.
The side entrance was unlocked, which had Bri nervous. But her leather messenger bag was nearly empty and the few mouthfuls of water left in their bottles wouldn't last the rest of the day. They couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Flashlights out, the two survivors entered warily.

There was a time not long ago that Bri would a reached for the light switches out of habit, but she'd broken that one a few weeks ago. "What do you need?" she asked Grant quietly, her patch of light sweeping steadily, looking for any signs of the risen. Her heart hammered in her chest. "I've got a list. It's short, but… damn, I wish the power worked, I hate the dark."

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

The first thing Grant always did when they entered a new place was sniff the air and that's exactly what he did here before he made sure the door was securely latched behind them. It was something he had gotten into the habit of doing since they had one of the dead followed them into a gas station just outside of Boston. It was a tough lesson, one that he didn't want to repeat. There was no lock on the door but at least they would have to figure out how to open the door if they wanted to follow them in this time. Satisfied he turned and approached Bri who was scanning the area as usual. "It's ok, I think we're clear. I didn't smell any stinkers when we came in." He looked around to get a good sense of where they were in the store and began to think about how to most efficiently go through and get supplies they needed. The benefit to Walmart is in the mid-2000s they started this green initiative where they put skylights all across their roofs, which with the light color walls and floors pretty well lit the entire store. All they needed to do was wait until sunrise if they wanted to take advantage of that.

"We can stay for a few hours and get some rest if you're worried about the dark. I can find us a good place to rest." She was nervous in the dark and he knew it, but this place did look relatively untouched, which he found to be suspicious but he didn't want to alarm her any more than she already was. "Or we can grab a cart, fill it up with some water, supplies, stuff from your list, stuff from my list, and then I can try to get one of those cars outside started." He watched her still scanning the room nervously as he was talking and it made him feel so sad. The Bri he knew before was so different, she was so laid-back and happy.

There was no sense in telling her to relax, not anymore, escaping Boston had taken a toll on her that he wasn't sure she would ever bounce back from but he was still hopeful. It's all that kept him so optimistic, the thought that she might be able to shake this paranoia and not be so on edge all the time. He tried his best to make her feel safe but it never helped. Pulled his hatchet from its sheath and started to walk forward into the dark store, unfortunately they were in cosmetics and he didn't know a damn thing they could do with make up but at least that was close to the pharmacy and those supplies were always scarce, maybe, just maybe they could get lucky this time.

"So, are we camping or making a quick run and heading out? He spoke quietly as he looked around the corner of the aisle into main walkway. Nothing he could see, but it was dark and he didn't want to alert something by shining his light too far. Just because he was pretty sure there weren't any risen here didn't mean they were completely in the clear.

March 15, 2018
Night
Framingham, Massachusetts – Walmart Interior

Bri stared blankly at the towering stands of mascara and lipstick in front of her, untouched and left behind, frivolous monuments to a different time, the dust settled thickly on the plastic wrapping. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn makeup, although she'd never been one to doll herself up in the first place. Odd, how so many things the world thought were so important just didn't matter now.

"Let's stay a while," she said, breaking her gaze and grabbing a discarded shopping cart near the wall of brightly colored eyeshadows. The wheel squealed as she pushed it, so she abandoned it in favor of a basket instead. "I don't like splitting up, but… it'll take forever if we don't." She gave Grant a tight smile, stuffing her flashlight in her armpit so she could free the machete from the sheath strapped to his leg. "Grab the essentials? Water and food first, maybe some new socks, yours have holes and mine are getting crunchy." She tucked the weapon carefully in her belt, scrubbing at her nose. "I'd kill for some of those tissues with the lotion, too. Meet me in the pharmacy in twenty?"

And the two parted ways quietly.

Aisle by aisle Bri moved quickly, swiping things off the shelves, never pausing for too long, checking off the list in her mind as she went. An odd assortment of items it would seem to the outsider, but years of studying homeopathy and holistic healing had given her a broad foundation of knowledge to work with, and she'd learned a trick or two working with the homeless of Boston. Newspaper made great emergency insulation on cold nights. Honey, for its antibacterial purposes and wound application properties. Vaseline, for like, everything. The sides of her basket were lined with dried herbs from the grocery section. Basil, cardamom, ginger, garlic, cinnamon, turmeric… all had massive healing benefits, as did the few boxes of teas she picked up, and because they were dried and ground, they kept longer than their fresher versions. Not that there was any fresh food to take anyway.

A small sewing kit, tapes and sterile bandages, two little bottles of antiseptic wound cleaner, three bars of soap, salt packets, a small coil of thin, stiff wire probably used for fishing, scissors… She'd made good time, her basket full as she lugged it back towards the pharmacy, still rounding every corner with care. So far, so good, but if it's one thing she'd learned during this apocalypse, it was never get comfortable and never trust the darkness.

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

With a grin and a nod Grant watched Bri walk into the darkness, he didn't like splitting up but this place was huge and it would take forever for them to search it. It wasn't the first time they had split up like this but it was definitely the first time in a place this large. Once she was beyond his sight he made his way deeper into the store. It was clear that parts of the store had gone untouched, who really needs toys in the apocalypse right? Shelf after shelf with lined with merchandise no one would ever buy, no one would ever use, left here to rot away into nothing but dust, stocked up for the Black Friday sales that would never come.

His first stop was in the garden center which was completely decked out with Christmas decorations. The Christmas village display made him smile for a moment as he remembered the collection his mother had been building for years. The silly things made a small city rather than a village. He picked up one of the villagers and blew the dust from it. It was one that his mom already had, he remembered when she bought it, she said to him 'This one kind of looks like you with your books, carrying them from class to class. My little boy is all grown up and going to college so far from home. I'm so proud of you...I'm gonna get this for my village so no matter how far you are a little part of you is always with me.' He thoughtfully placed it back on the shelf with a knot in his throat and moved on to where the garden supplies were. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, he grabbed a couple of packets of each kind of seed he saw so they could hopefully build a home when they got where they were going. Somewhere they could grow food and be safe after all of this. Luckily seeds didn't weigh much or take up too much room.

As he left the garden center he gave one last long look to the figurine in the Christmas village, he had to have some hope that he would see his parents again and his brother and sister. But for now he needed to stay focused on Bri, she needed him and he needed her. He grabbed a basket as he re-entered the main store to continue his search for supplies, Bri had food covered so they were good there, she knew what she was doing on that part far better than he did.

When he reached sporting goods the first thing he did was look to see if this Walmart sold ammo but unfortunately they didn't, or it was all gone. But they did have knives and that was something they could never really run short of, so he started filling his basket. He also found some nice gloves for them that could be mittens or gloves, a box of Hothands which was surprisingly untouched, waterproof matches, and a can opener before he moved on to the next department.

On his way to get socks for Bri Grant made a quick pit stop by electronics, knew that he shouldn't, he knew that he was probably wasting his time but he had been looking for something very particular for a while now. He eyed copy of his latest video game on a feature endcap as he walked by, so much work put into something that would never be played. He would never know if his game would have been one of the greats that people remember and stand in line for. If it would be a game that people demand a sequel or downloadable content so they can make their experience that much longer, but he knew that wondering what might have been served no real purpose so he moved on to the reason he was really here. It took him a bit of searching but to his amazement he found exactly what he had been looking for and hit brought a huge smile to his face, "Perfect." He shoved the item in his bag and then looked grabbed a few other things on his way out of the department and did the same. He knew that it wasn't something essential, but not everything had to be life and death, not everything had to be so grim, there had to be some joy left in the world otherwise what's the point in surviving?

Moving through the clothing racks made him more nervous than anything, his brother and sister used to hide in the clothes and jump out at him when he was little, it scared him every time. He was just waiting on one of the stinkers to do the same, except this time he'd be in real danger. Cautiously he navigated through the racks with his hatchet in hand and wide eyes scanning each of the fixtures as he approached them with his basket gripped tightly in his left hand. Finally he relaxed once he made it to the socks, he grabbed a couple of packages of the insulated ones and a package of boxer briefs, then moved on to find some for Bri. Finding this stuff for Bri was slightly harder because he didn't really know what to look for so he just grabbed her some insulated socks as well and two packages of panties because he had no idea if she needed them or not.

He picked up the pace on his way to the front of the store, he knew that he had taken longer than he should have with is pit stop in electronics, there was just one more thing he needed to grab in they were always at the front of the store by the registers, batteries. Most of them were gone but he knew some retail stocking tricks, and since this place closed down just before Black Friday he knew there had to be an abundance of batteries around here somewhere. The first thing he did was moved the battery fixture which luckily was on wheels and there were the double A's he needed. Then he searched under the surrounding shelves and sure enough there were the C's and D's. No one ever thinks to look under the shelves unless they've worked retail before.

That was all he needed, at least he was pretty sure that was everything, so he headed toward the pharmacy. It wasn't far away but he knew that Bri had to be done before him, she always was.

Walmart Customer Service -- March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts

As the crouching man turned around, having picked up... (batteries?) Ryan swung the tool (Edger, $24.99, aisle 17 -- 'garden implements') - swung it overhand, aiming for the base of the man's skull. Swung it hard -- but not too hard, y'know? Hard enough to put him down, give him a headache... but not hard enough to... He concentrated to make sure he connected with the flat of the tool, not the edge... that'd be bad. Ryan agonized all thee way through children's clothing (3T Onesie, Osh Kosh, $13, aisle 2) and seasonal (American flag, $9.99, aisle 40) about how he should hit the man. How hard, where, when. He worried about whether he'd succeed. He'd lost weight, that was for sure, but he was still a tall dude, and the heft of the tool in his hands was enough.

"Enough." Jesus, enough for what? Enough to end this man's life? Enough to hurt him, but not turn him into one of those things? Enough to make him stumble? Fall? Ryan was worried. He wasn't exactly an expert on this shit. If only he had a tazer. That would have been easier. Except he'd miss. He'd fucking miss, and then this guy would fucking kill him. Ryan had followed the guy awhile. Long enough to spot other tools (Conduit Bender, $61.98, aisle 14, 'Tools and Job-site Safety Apparel') or potential weapons (Canoe Paddle, Grey Owl brand, $85, aisle 35, 'sporting goods') and discard them for fear of picking something that would most certainly have killed the man (conduit bender) or not hurt him badly enough (paddle.) He also discarded the notion of his trusty aluminum bat. He knew enough to know the bat was too light, too perfectly balanced, too small a surface for the force that could be exerted. (Thanks, Miss Higgins' Physics class...) Using the bat would have been a killing blow. There was no two ways about it. So the edger would have to do.

He had followed the man at a medium distance since electronics (Far Cry 4, $9.99, End Cap 2 -- 'clearance') and through the Men's Clothing section (Punisher Tee, $4.99, floating rack three, 'Assorted Pop Culture graphic Tees.') Ryan didn't know why the man and his friend were here, but if there was one, there'd be another, and then there would be more. More meant noise. Noise meant Stinkers. Stinkers meant he'd have to move on. And right now, Ryan didn't want to go anywhere. He couldn't. There were still three hundred forty-four pairs to check.

He'd been eating out of a container of potato salad (St. Clair, $6.99, Deli counter 'Xpress.') for the past few days (Coleman camp cooler, $36.99, Aisle 34, 'camping and sporting goods') and sleeping in the security office. It was as good a place as any, and given his particular circumstances, maybe his only option. He'd lost track of the number of days he'd been here. A month? More?

...It wasn't a swing intended to kill -- no, merely incapacitate, or more accurately -- render non-hostile.

@Lady of Lore @The DudeMan

One of life’s simple pleasures, according to the American Dream handbook, is a peaceful Sunday drive on an open stretch of country road, where the chill of the morning air meets the warm and delicate kiss of the rising sun. With puffs of cumulus bumbling along a gradient canvas, carefree and unencumbered by trivialities. Accompanying on this journey: a spouse, two children, and a dog. Over bridges and underpasses, carefree passengers simply follow the road, no less encumbered than the bumbling cumulus, giving in to the paths laid out before them.

It seemed, to Isaac, that many important details eluded the American Dream handbook. Nowhere did the handbook mention that the spring wind would carry upon its lofty back the choking scent of an M35 series cargo truck’s diesel exhaust. It didn’t account for the bumps, thuds, and jerks as the truck shifted gears or ran over a body. Or that Isaac’s company, instead of a one-spouse and two-kid family, was an unruly bunch of Eastern Front Bandits, whose appearance was fresh out of a 1980s biker gang movie.

Isaac could feel their eyes upon him from time to time as he leaned back against the wooden rails. He knew the look. At best, untrusting. At the worst, cold and bloodthirsty. Six other men accompanied Isaac in the cargo area of the truck. Isaac hadn’t the opportunity or the desire to learn their names. He considered it a waste of time. In the months since the virus, the idea of identity became insignificant. So had permanence, for that matter. Routine had fallen by the wayside. So Isaac thought of temporary names for his companions. Forgettable names, such as Skullface, Nosering, Patriot, Sticks, Gaston, and Shades.

“Hey,” Sticks called out to Skullface, whose appearance was rather intimidating regardless of the skull-printed bandana tied around the lower half of his face. “Bill, pssst. Bill!” Sticks continued to call out.

...Apparently Skullface’s name was Bill. Isaac liked Skullface better.

“Shut up.” Skullface barked, jabbing Sticks’ knee with the butt of his shotgun. After Sticks hissed and winced, Skullface leaned in, “Whatta ya want?”

“What do you think they want to do with Frankie?” Sticks said while rubbing his knee and motioning toward the end of a rope hanging out of the truck. More importantly, he motioned to what was dragging at the end of the rope: a bloody, twitching, groaning husk of a human woman.

“Beats me,” Skullface sighed. “Study her. Fuck her. Put a collar on her and make her beg. I dunno. But who the hell cares? They want Franks, we bring Franks. So long as they pay us, I don’t give a shit what they do to ‘em.”

“I bet the new guy wants to fuck her,” mused Nosering, motioning to Isaac. “Hey, new guy. Want us to pull over so you can take a turn?”

“Already had my turn…” Isaac muttered through his mask.

Nosering smirked. “Did she like it?”

“Don’t know,” Isaac replied coldly. “Ask your buddy, Jacobs, next time you see him.”

Silence. A cold, bitter, windy silence. The truck jerked hard as the driver shifted gears. Tension among the group was palpable. Defensively, Isaac’s free hand moved to his knife. But much to Isaac’s surprise, Nosering erupted into a hearty laugh. The rest of the car followed.

“Jacobs scores even when he’s dead.” Chuckled Nosering.

“Ten bucks says I score twice as many when I’m a Frank.” Boasted Gaston, with a hearty laugh.

A heavy knock came from the inside of the truck. A man by the name of Morgan, the only man whose name Isaac chose to remember, yelled out at the group. “Cut the crap and look sharp. We’re here to do business, look and act like it. Rendezvous in five.”

Morgan’s commanding influence was noteworthy. The laughs were immediately stifled and the entire group shifted their focus to their weapons, triple checking their ammo. Skullface motioned to some boxes next to Isaac. “Scott, Smith, you two are guarding the crates. Tim and I are going with Morgan. New guy, watch our backs. Don’t fall asleep.”

Isaac nodded wordlessly at Skullface.

The road became bumpier as it was littered with bodies downed by the surviving locals. Isaac was thrown out of his seat and was quickly saved by Shades, who pulled him close and muttered, “Jacobs was my best friend. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I won’t forget that your ugly face was the last thing he saw.”

He shoved Isaac back toward his seat, causing his helmeted head to collide with the wooden rail. Dazed briefly, Isaac gazed up at the sun, just peeking out beyond a slow-drifting cumulus cloud. As the rays warmed him against the bitter wind, Isaac drew in a deep breath. The handbook was right about one thing: there was nothing like the kiss of sunlight to brighten up a Sunday morning drive.

Dhinas Charrai Fir Aathhavai Rain Sabaaee Jaae…

Submersion; Pressure; Instability; Cold; Warmth. Multiple senses delivered urgent messages in a jumbled mess of voices, like a crowded stock exchange. It was hard to sort through each one of them. Impossible to isolate, or focus.

“Try one at a time...” spoke a soothingly raspy, yet unfamiliar baritone.

Everything was empty. No vision. Not even darkness. Simply, empty: as if vision was a completely unfamiliar concept. Sounds were muffled and scrambled, blurred and indistinct. But each wave of vibrations amplified the pressure in the skull.

“Where are you…?”
“Where are you, Isaac?”

Two voices in a dissonant harmony. One mysterious, one recognizable. A woman’s voice called out to an entity known as Isaac, an amalgamation of a community of subprocesses guided by an emergent, identifiable psychological subroutine known as consciousness.

“Where are you, Isaac?” The woman's voice asked again, this time with a fearful insistence.

"I am..." Isaac replied as the crowds of sensations unified into a singular experience. "I am swimming," He added, feeling the weightlessness and pressure holding his body. "Or I am falling..."

The empty void shifted to blackness. As Isaac regained control of different aspects of his body, he began to remember old sensations. Muscle memory took control of his eyes, performing a check on the lids and the various muscles behind. With each shift came a flash of light.

"Do you see this light, Isaac?" Spoke the mysterious man, whose rumbling voice soothed Isaac's otherwise frantic and panicked mind.

"I see it," Isaac replied. "I need to swim toward it..."

Isaac thrashed about, but couldn't move his body. The pressure was too strong. His body was stiff, unresponsive. Yet the very thought of ascending, the very mental struggle, brought Isaac toward the light all the same. His heart pounded in his chest, desperate. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe!" He shouted. "I'm not swimming fasting enough!" His body shook and his chest began to burn. He could feel every muscle in his nervous system tremble.

"We ensure the most quality and humane care of our patients." Spoke a new voice. Familiar. Male. Nasally. Bookish.

"Useless windbag," Isaac recalled briefly before his focus returned to the sudden collapse of his chest cavity and lungs. "And I'm still drowning!"

"It's alright, honey. It's alright. You're going to be fine."

"Lu..." Isaac's heartrate suddenly slowed. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. The world was a blurry landscape. With a few more tremors, Isaac spoke, "Lu, I'm home."

"Of course you are, sweetie. It's your birthday. We're all here with you. Why don't you come out of the pool? Your parents are going to be here any minute."

Isaac moved his arms to climb out of the pool. But he couldn't. He still felt stiff. "I'm drowning. I'm still drowning. Lu, where are you?"

"Come out of the pool, Daddy."

Mila's voice. She was six years old. "I remember this birthday..." Isaac said, feeling himself sink again. "We went to the theater with my parents. But Mila got food poisoning. Lu...you took Mila to the hospital and I stayed with my parents. We fought that night."

"Where are you, Isaac?!

Lucille's voice became more insistent. Isaac struggled again, his heart pounding once more. "I'm here, Lu! I'm drowning, but I'm here! I will find you!"

"We ensure the most quality and humane care of our patients." The nasally voice spoke again.

"Who the fuck cares? They're Franks." Nosering chuckled. "You can run 'em over and they won't give a shit."

Nosering. Isaac's could feel pressure in the back of his skull as his brain woke further. He became suddenly aware of the pins and needles sensation that had been stabbing his fingers and toes. "Where am I?"

"Where are you, Isaac?"
"Where are you, Isaac?"
"Where are you, Daddy?"

"Where, the fuck are you?!" Nosering shouted, just as Isaac felt a surging pain and pressure across his cheek.

...Aav Ghattai Nar Naa Bujhai Nith Moosaa Laaj Ttukaae







Nearly twenty years ago, Isaac shared a physics class with a student named James Cole, who was between majors. As Isaac sat watch over the truck's supplies with his hunting rifle resting up against his shoulder, he began to reminisce about his former classmate. James was an idealist in the literal sense of the word, to the point of holding a firm position on relativistic solipsism. As Isaac recalled, James went on to provide a thesis for his Master's degree on how time is not subjective, but truly relativistic to consciousness. As Isaac studied cloud formations, James managed to obtain a Masters in Philosophy with a focus on Cosmology and Consciousness for providing compelling evidence of the ratio of the passage of time in regard to a person's particular enjoyment.

Isaac needed no thesis to prove this concept. He could have sworn that hours had passed since their arrival, but the sun had barely risen. Thirty, maybe forty minutes, tops. It didn't help that Sticks was audibly shivering and Nosering was constantly cracking his jaw, adding two more factors that greatly contributed to Isaac's Psychotemporal Ratio.




With a heavy and muffled sigh, Isaac shifted his gaze several meters south of the truck, where Morgan, Shades, and Gaston were huddled with what appeared to be soldiers and men in lab coats. Beyond them sat a modest-sized building - a school, apparently - with a pleasantly warm red-orange hue to its brick construction and high rooftops. It felt Church-like, if not for the boarded windows, wooden barricades, and chicken-wire surrounding the building. The dead grass and mutilated wildlife that lay strewn about, waiting to be cleaned up didn't help matters, either.

Isaac watched Morgan carefully. He was a big man, for sure, standing at nearly 6'4". While food deprivation might have shed him fifteen or twenty pounds since the Terminus release, Morgan's years of benchpressing and protein shakes was still quite apparent. To match his intimidating size, Morgan's deep brown eyes, shaved head, and melanin rich skin commanded respect. He spoke little, but when he did, it was short and to the point, leaving no room for questioning. Isaac's first impression of the man was simply: efficient. In a world where every resource counted, Morgan knew how to get as much out of his team as possible, with the smallest effort.




"What do you think they're talking about?" Came the weak and gingivitis-ridden voice of Sticks, who was literally looking over Isaac's shoulder.

Isaac glared impatiently at the emaciated young man. Fortunately, before he could say anything, Nosering pulled him back. "Watch your step, idiot. You almost shoved your foot right into the cargo."

"Sorry..." Sticks said.

"Keep your eye on the body..." Isaac muttered. Sticks looked at Isaac with a glance that questioned the new guy's authority. But after a brief moment, realized it was a good idea. He turned gaze a few meters to the back of the truck, where the bloody and somewhat dismembered mess of what was once a human body flailed about like a ragdoll, voicelessly.

Just then, Isaac felt a tap on his shoulder. Nosering gestured over to the group. Shades had turned around and was walking back toward the truck. "Looks like they're finally ready to get this shit moving."

Isaac started preparing the boxes to be removed. But Shades had other plans. He slapped his palm onto the wood to get Isaac's attention. "Leave them," Shades commanded sternly. "Get out of the truck. We're going for a walk."

"A walk?" Nosering asked. "The fuck are they going to do, give us the five dollar tour?"

"Just shut up and get out of the car, Stan." Shades knocked on the wood again, moving around the truck. Isaac watched him carefully. He was holding fairly tightly to his gun. This wasn't a request. It was a demand. Something was happening. Maybe the deal went bad. Maybe Morgan was in trouble. Isaac's masked face studied Shades' carefully. Watched his lips form a tight line across his pale, Val Kilmer face. The man was expressionless. Very solder-like, if not for his obvious love of the eighties with the Top Gun shades and Mad Max leather jacket.




Sticks stepped out first, followed by Nosering, who gave Shades a playful shove. Isaac followed, glancing at his surroundings for any sign of a potential ambush. "Is Morgan in trouble?"

"Just get moving." Shades said sternly.

"Suit yourself, Iceman..." Isaac muttered as he followed Nosering.

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

By the time he had put the batteries in his bag Grant was fairly worry free about being in the store. He had been all around the place, no scent of rotten flesh, no groans, no moans, not even blood (dried or otherwise), and probably most importantly he hadn't seen any signs of people. The more he walked, the more comfortable he got, the more he started to think that this might be a good place to camp out for a while and maybe help Bri relax a little by giving her a safe place to sleep and be herself again. He hated seeing her so on edge all the time, constantly in a state of fear and uncertainty. She used to laugh a lot, and now she barely smiled.

As he passed by the last register he glanced over to the magazine rack and laughed to himself about the things that people used to think were important. 'Heidi and Brad: Will they? Won't they?' 'Dedra's 100M divorce check!' 'The President is from Outer Space?!' All of it pointless now, and even then really, especially that last one. The things people would keep up on to somehow try to add something missing to their boring lives. He wondered if any of the people in those magazines were even still alive or if they were walking among the dead like everyone else. Was there a society out there that hadn't been touched by Terminus? A paradise that still resembles their former lives? It was musing like that that made him keep going, it may not be out there but as long as there's hope he would keep looking.

He would have to come back for some of those magazines for burning, but not now, he was already late enough and Bri was probably wondering what happened. He was, however, tempted to check the candy and see if there was anything left but he doubted it. Something like that is currency now, those indulgences people used to take for granted and then beat themselves up about it later. If they could get their hands on things like that they would be good for trading if there were people out there still actually doing that sort of thing, it had been a few weeks since they'd seen anyone to trade with.

Grant's mind was wandering as he drew nearer to the pharmacy, he wondered if he had forgotten to grab anything and went over the list in his head of what he had picked up. So when the edger came down he had no idea what had hit him or that it was even coming. An audible 'tink' rang out as the metal hit his head and he fell forward trying to catch himself before he hit the ground until he ran into a shipper of tin Christmas bakeware and knocking it over with a loud crash as he hit the ground dazed and confused.

As Isaac approached the school, he took note of the various barricades and fortifications set up. Chicken wire, barbed wire, trenches, and wooden planks. The fortifications were set up in a hurry. Each layer was added incrementally over the months since the virus. Some of the layers were still fresh. Some of them were crusted over with blood and decaying flesh. The stench, which stung Isaac's nose even through his mask, only added to the grim scenery. At one point, such a display of human resolve against the impending tide of death impressed Isaac. Humanity's tenacity, even at the brink of extinction, is nothing short of awe-inspiring. But like all of humanity's utilitarian efforts to weather the oncoming storm, sometimes even the best defenses crumble under nature's surging forces. The defenses were wearing down with time, Isaac noted. And as any decent meteorologist would know, a storm was coming.

"Pick up your feet, Stan." Shades barked. Isaac hadn't known Shades - or anybody in the Eastern Front - for long. But while he had assumed Shades was just generally an an asshole, Shades' disgruntled urgency raised even Nosering's suspicions. Nosering turned his gaze over his shoulder, glaring back at Shades with his green-hued eyes. His dirty, red-brown hair tussled angrily in the wind.

"It's twenty feet. What the hell is your hurry?" He exclaimed.

Shades didn't answer. He simply kept on walking, trailing uncomfortably close behind Isaac. Up ahead stood Gaston and Morgan, two bulky and towering men of varying shades. Though Gaston, who stood just an inch shorter than Morgan even with his full head of slick black hair, also wore a Kevlar vest and carried the same model M16 assault rifle that Morgan carried, he did not have Morgan's Eastern Front jacket. The solid black leather jacket bore a patch displaying a soldier kneeling and aiming his rifle. On a ribbon beneath the seal read the words, "Vitam Mortem Vincit”.

Notably absent were Skullface, Patriot, and the driver. Isaac glanced around, looking for any signs of them, but instead caught the direct glare of Morgan’s piercing eyes.

“Mask off,” Morgan commanded, sternly.

Isaac glared silently at Morgan for what seemed like an eternity. But Morgan showed no signs of relent on his face. Nor did he show any sign of impatience. He made a command and simply waiting for the inevitable execution of it.

Isaac undid the straps of his gas mask, and pulled it up high enough to reveal his scruffy, half-Indian face. His brown eyes looked first at Morgan, then at the soldiers standing across the chicken-wire barricade.

Without another word to Isaac, Morgan turned his gaze back to the soldiers. “Food, fuel, ammo, and supplies.” He said, sternly, as he held out a clipboard with a handwritten list.

One of the soldiers took the list and glanced it over, expressionlessly. He looked back up at Morgan and nodded. With a gesture of the hand, two other soldiers pulled a wooden post out of the ground and opened up the barricade. Morgan stepped through, followed by Gaston. Shades pushed past Isaac, Sticks, and Nosering without so much as a glance back. With a face and a gesture, Nosering proceeded forward, only to be stopped by one of the soldiers.

“You’re to wait for Doctor Harper.” The soldier commanded.

“What the hell is going on? Who the fuck is Doctor Harper?” Nosering barked. He backed away, however, as the soldiers closed the fence again.

Sticks, who had been shivering loudly since their arrival, was glancing around nervously. “I don’t like this, man. I don’t like this at all.” He began to pace, hugging his bony shoulders.

Isaac, meanwhile, toyed with the straps of his mask. As he began to tighten them, Nosering clapped him on the shoulder. “Thought you were white,” He mused.

Isaac paused and gave him a dark glare. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Nosering’s puzzlement was worn plainly on his face as he took a step back. “Fuck no. Shit, I had a Hindu buddy back home.”

Isaac simply stared at Nosering and sighed before tugging his mask back down to his face, only to be reprimanded by one of the soldiers. Reluctantly, he pulled the mask up again and rolled his eyes, just in time to see a man in a white coat approaching. He had a pleasantly round face and calming smile, with a thin pair of mishapen rectangular spectacles that hid black, beady eyes beneath.

“Hello, friends. I’m Doctor Harper.” He said as he stopped a few feet from barricade separating the group from him. “You’ll forgive me if we skip the handshakes. Nasty flu going around.”

Isaac was not amused. To his surprise, though, neither was Nosering. Sensing the apprehension among the group, Doctor Harper dropped the joke and motioned toward the barricade. The soldiers pulled the stake out of the ground and tugged the chicken-wire fence aside.

“Come,” Doctor Harper motioned, “Let me show you around while you wait for Morgan.”

“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll wait out here.” Nosering said, holding his ground. Isaac nodded in agreement. Doctor Harper stopped and turned to face the three. Specifically, he looked at Sticks. “You haven’t eaten in a few days, have you? Afraid the food is going to turn you?”

Sticks said nothing. He merely looked down and shivered.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do,” Doctor Harper said, ”That’s Morgan’s job. But we have a working generator and refrigerators stocked with fresh food and water.”

Isaac felt sick at the mention of fresh food. Over the months, hunger had become something that he was acutely aware of. But it was so perpetual that he simply learned to tolerate it: like a pair of wet socks. But now that Doctor Harper had mentioned it, Isaac’s hunger had become a serious demand, one that dominated over his skepticism.

Nosering must have felt the same. He put his arm around Sticks’ shoulder, protectively. “You better not be fucking around.”

Doctor Harper said nothing. He simply turned and started walking toward the building. Nosering walked ahead with Sticks and Isaac followed, keeping an eye on the guards as they closed the fence behind.

As the four walked along the perimeter, Doctor Harper began his tour of the facility. “When the virus hit, this school was one of the first sanctuaries. FEMA set up a rudimentary quarantine. Each classroom was separated by degrees of infection. Kids, mostly. Not even FEMA had the heart to kill classrooms full of kids. So the infection spread faster and this school became a slaughterhouse.”

Doctor Harper opened the doors, revealing a darkened foyer and halls barely illuminated with emergency lighting. Already, Isaac could hear the churning of the generators throughout the building. The Doctor stepped ahead and motioned for the group to follow him down the hallway on the left. “This way.”

“Two months later," he continued, "the army used this as a supply station between Fort Devens and Baltimore. But then Fort Devens fell and the army retreated back to Baltimore. Since then, this place was transformed into a hospital and research facility. I was brought in, along with Doctor Gordon-...you'll meet him, soon."



"We look for ways to fight the infection, purify the food, and heal injuries."

"And the soldiers outside make sure none of you turn." Isaac said as glanced at the doors, trying to peek in through the windows.

"Quite right," Harper replied, casually.

"So that's why you collect the Franks." Nosering said.

Doctor Harper adjusted his glasses and smiled, "We're looking at the end of days for humanity unless we find a cure. You can't find a cure unless you work with the patients."

"So they're lab rats," Isaac muttered.

Doctor Harper looked back over his shoulder and flashed a very political smile, "We ensure the most quality and humane care of our patients."

Isaac rolled his eyes and checked behind to see if anybody was following. Nothing but an empty hall.

"Who the fuck cares? They're Franks." Nosering chuckled. "You can run 'em over and they won't give a shit."

Doctor Harper said nothing. He merely continued smiling as he walked. With a dramatic gesture, he pointed to an open door at the end of the hall. "You can wait here while we get the some food prepared from our stock."

Nosering glanced first at Sticks, then at Isaac. Isaac slowly shook his head, but Sticks was starting to to faint. Nosering half-carried, half-dragged Sticks into the room. Reluctantly, Isaac followed, checking behind again. The Doctor gave Isaac one last smile as he passed and promptly shut the door. The emergency light flickered for just a moment.

“Stan,” Sticks groaned, “Stan we need to leave.”

Isaac could hear feet shuffling in the darkened room. Quickly, he reached for his knife, but he felt a strong arm wrap around him and pull him down. In that instant, as he hit the ground, Isaac could feel something sharp rip through his clothes and stab his leg. He screamed out as a fiery sensation tore its way up his legs to his spine and spread out, filling him with excruciating and paralyzing pain.

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

An audible 'tink' rang out as the metal hit his head and he fell forward trying to catch himself before he hit the ground until he ran into a shipper of tin Christmas bakeware and knocking it over with a loud crash as he hit the ground dazed and confused.

Ryan dropped the edger, the sound echoing --

--throughout the checkout area of the store. Working quickly, he retrieved the large zip-ties ($4.99, bag of 50, aisle 17, Automotive) from his back pocket and hog-tied the fallen man. As he worked, he spoke softly to the man, tossing aside any obvious weapons he had been carrying.

"Sorry, fella... this'll all be over soon, one way or the other."

Grabbing the bundle of wrists / ankles that he had made, Ryan dragged the semi-conscious man to a corner beyond the checkout counters, a nondescript corner near one of the (locked) exit doors. Lying the Grant-package on its side, facing away from him toward the wall. His head was still lolling and his eyes weren't quite focused, so Ryan quickly checked for vitals, and daubed at the trickle of blood at the base of the man's skull.

"Damn, my man... sorry about that. Looks a bit painful. Don't worry. You and your friend play nice, everyone gets what they need. Your pal should be along soon. We'll just wait, you and me."

Drawing the Browning Hi-Power pistol, Ryan crouched, back against the wall, and rested the muzzle of the short silencer against the top of the Grant-package's head, and waited for the other one to arrive. It wouldn't be long. He took several deep breaths, steadying his nerves.

It was time to get his game-face on.

"…Grant?" she whispered, peering slowly around the corner of the candy rack near the checkout lanes, flashlight off and machete at the ready.

Her basket stashed near the back of the pharmacy, Briana had taken every precaution she could think of as soon as the 'crash-clang' rang out through the deserted store. Supplies hidden, weapon out, mental pictures of exactly where to hit the dead so they couldn't get back up flashing through her mind, the panic that gripped her form day and night released her as her focus narrowed and adrenaline kicked into overdrive.

Grant would never make that kind of noise unless something was wrong, and she wouldn't face the end of the world without him.
She'd gone quietly aisle by aisle, fully prepared, but nothing seemed amiss and there were no other noises. That had her worried. A careful sniff of the air told her there were no rotters, and even the shamblers made some kind of noise.

That meant either Grant had injured himself or knocked something over by accident (highly unlikely, and he'd have called out to her if he had)…or there was someone else inside the store. The living were just as dangerous as the dead.

"..Grant!" she hissed again. Hesitantly, Bri turned her flashlight on as she neared the checkout area. It was risky, but she couldn’t see a damn thing. When she saw the bakeware scattered down the aisle, her grip on the machete tightened. Her beam bounced from lane to lane as she paused in the open.

| @deegee |

ohshitohshitohshit, she's being cautious. ohgodohgod... I can't see her anywhere. I was expecting her to step out, show herself. Mind racing. What now? What if this one wakes up? **game face... game. face.**

"Come out. Show yourself. And 'Grant' will be fine."

Not the dead. Human. This was a human problem.

Not that it was any comfort for Bri. Too often, they'd found the living to be more dangerous than the dead, and without Grant around to deter trouble-makers… well, her odds of surviving went down very quickly. Visions of her best friend wounded or bleeding out under a cashier stand threatened her focus, but the voice had said he'd be fine…

Gripping her weapon, she moved slowly towards the direction of whomever had spoken. How many were there? Only one had spoken. Rare to find anyone running solo, though. What did they want? Couldn't be their supplies, they were in a store full of everything a human needed. Information, then? Possibly. Medical help? Unlikely. If intentions were sinister, why the 'hostage' song and dance? Why not just kill them immediately?

Bri raised her hands out from her side in a cautioning gesture as her light found the culprit. Her heart jumped a little as she saw Grant, laying on his side, tied and facing the wall… and the firearm resting on his head. "I-..we don't want any trouble," she said calmly as she approached, shifting her flashlight beam from his face. The machete was still in her hand, but it was pointed downwards. Bri paused a good distance away.

She squinted a little, limbs tensed, trying to get a clearer look at the man crouched against the wall without blinding him with her flashlight. "We just stopped for some supplies…"

There she was. klak. klak. Her boots on the tile. Her light wasn't helping the matter, and for a moment, he considered just pulling the trigger. Two of them. Two would mean trouble. Two would mean more will come. More would mean the stinkers. Trouble. Trouble... he couldn't trust her. Sure, sure. Not looking for trouble. klak.

"Like the others. Right..." Easy... easy... game-face. (cosmetics, foundation, $6.99, aisle 6 -- 'beauty products.') "Shut up!" Sometimes that voice was just too present. too close. Bad timing. Did I say that out loud? The light... her light (C-cell batteries, checkout #3 display -- place where you just whacked Dude with an Edger -- $24.99, aisle 17 -- 'garden implements') "I said cut it OUT!" ...was still lingering close at-hand, so that he couldn't focus. klak. The gun wavered in his hand a little, aimed at her (general location.) The barrel of the gun looked big... dangerous. Dirty. Like it was ready to deliver infection and pain. The fact that it quaked slightly in his (nervous? sick?) hand did her no favours, though the fact that he wasn't pointing directly at her, but only vaguely at her, was of some consolation.

"y-you just need to go. Away from here. Take your friend and leave. I-I just don't want to have to kill him. Or you. But you can't stay. Can't. I'm just not done, see? If I was done, you could stay, and it'd be swell." His face loses all emotion. "But I'm not. So you can't. Go." (bullets, security counter, no listed price [NFS!] -- you can always replenish...) "SHUT. UP!"

"Where, the fuck are you?!" Nosering shouted, just as Isaac felt a surging pain and pressure across his cheek. A feeling that Isaac could only describe as a spontaneous supernova overwhelmed him, with every nerve firing out in explosive pain. Reflexively, his body drew in a sharp breath and tightened, becoming rapidly aware of gravity's weight upon his chest and shoulders. The pins and needles sensations that swam through Isaac gave way to a heavy, swollen throb. With great effort and a groan, Isaac muttered, "Oz…"

Following Isaac's comment were strings of incomprehensible words or swears. Isaac attempted to open his eyes and caught a brief glimpse of a blurry science laboratory, dimly lit by a flickering light. But between the searing flashes and the torrent of explosive gunfire, Isaac struggled to make any coherent sense out of the world around him. His only choice, for the moment, was to focus on one sense at a time. He shut his eyes tightly and struggled to make sense out of the voices speaking to him.

"Time to click your fucking heels and make your way back to Kansas, Dorothy." A familiar voice said. A firm pressure gripped Isaac's right arm and tugged, pulling him like a rag-doll off of whatever surface was holding him steady. For a moment that seemed far longer for Isaac than his present company, he lost all sense of weight and gravity, falling into the blackened abyss. Fortunately, the ground was ready to give him a firm welcome back to reality.

"Clear!" Nosering shouted as Isaac struggled to a kneeling position.

The hand that was holding Isaac's arm released, giving Isaac room to wake up and regain himself. "Stan," the voice called out, "look around for the new guy's shit. Probably in a bag somewhere around here. I'll keep watch."

One-by-one, Isaac's senses returned. The swelling in his hands and feet lessened, allowing him to move each digit freely. His face, which had felt heavy and swollen, loosened and relaxed. Though the noises and light still pounded at his temples like a jackhammer, he found that he could stand with a little support from the hospital bed that he had been laying on. As he stood up, Isaac felt a rush of cool air against his back.

"...what the hell did they do to me?" he muttered.

"Experiments." The familiar voice said. Isaac struggled to open his eyes again, trying to determine the source. He squinted against the flickering emergency light and raised a hand, shielding the glare. When he focused, he caught the outline of a man wearing a bandanna over his face. Skullface…

"Fuckers had us out for days," Nosering hurriedly said as he scrambled across the room, opening and closing cabinets with a heavy slam. "Took our clothes, pumped us with drugs, asked us a bunch of fucking questions. Sick fucks."

"Hurry up, Stan!" Skullface shouted, "Frank's coming back any second and New Guy is standing there with his ass sticking out."

Isaac looked down at the hospital bed, squinting as he studied it. There were leather belts on the arm-rests and the foot rests. Next to it, a tray with a variety of syringes, bottles, and examination tools. Additionally, there was a cellphone propped up with a display of what appeared to be a heart rate. He patted his chest and arms, searching for any diodes. Instead, he found a fitness tracker strapped to his wrist. "Clever.”

“Found it!” Nosering shouted as he pulled some plastic tubs out from a shelf. He hurried them over to the hospital bed, laying the tubs opened in front of Isaac. The contents were definitely Isaac’s clothing and items, cleaned and packaged in air-tight wrap. Another tub held his rifle, knife, and flare gun. Isaac’s fingers deftly ripped the packaging apart, letting loose a sterile smell. “Why did they clean everything?” Isaac asked as he tore the hospital gown off of himself and put on his clothes.

“Does it matter?” Skullface said, abruptly. “Hurry up. We need to get moving.”

Isaac dressed as quickly as his weakened and drugged body would allow him. He opened the packaging with a gradually increasing dexterity, scanning the items before equipping them. However, as he reached the bottom of the bin, he flipped the bins and shook them angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Nosering shouted.

Isaac didn’t answer. His hand desperately scraped the bottom of a bin before throwing it across the room. He searched the tray with the surgical instruments, searched the floor around the bed, searched his own hands. Desperately, he stormed up to Nosering and grabbed the collar of his jacket, “Where’s my ring?”

“Goddamn it, have you gone crazy?” Skullface barked.

Isaac ignored him. He looked intensely at Nosering, whose eyes were wide, confused, and slightly dazed. He just woke up, too. Isaac released Nosering and brushed past him, storming to the bed to grab his knife, flare gun, and hunting rifle.

“I need to find him…” Isaac muttered as he loaded the rifle.

“Find who?” Nosering scoffed as he brushed off his jacket and picked up his own rifle.

Isaac glanced around the room. In the flickering light, he saw Skullface poised with his assault rifle barrel pushed through the door’s shattered window. He watched Nosering make his way to the door, watching Isaac with a skeptical and puzzled eye. Behind them, a shadowy figure that Isaac hadn’t the sense to notice before. A thin man, crouched and whimpering quietly as he shivered. Sticks…



Isaac cocked his rifle and glared angrily at the empty bin. “I need to find Doctor Gordon…”

A lifetime ago, and in a very different world, Isaac dipped into the chemical culture that prevailed at his campus. It was a brief exposure, lasting merely a single semester. However, it was certainly enough time for him to decide that while reality was quite frequently awful, the alternative involving a distinct lack of control, both physically and cognitively, was utter hell. If Isaac could shine a spotlight on exactly when he knew that his time swimming in the semi-pharmaceutical pool was at an end, it was when he was lying prone on a vomit-scented shag carpet, staring out helplessly as human bodies thrashed about while they moaned incoherent nonsense. Come to think of it, Isaac mused, perhaps the two worlds weren't so different after all.

Roaring sounds of assault rifles firing off into the darkened hallways sent Isaac's senses reeling. The first drumbeat of semi-automatic fire ripped into his eardrums and channeled its way along his spine. The effect was dizzying, causing him to stumble to a knee and nearly lose his grip on his weapon. As he struggled to open his eyes, his blurred vision from the flashes of gunfire spotted Sticks huddled in the corner.

The only sounds that Isaac could make any sense of after that point was the rapid thudding of his heart beating at 142 beats per minute (according to the heart-rate monitor), his gasps of air, and the arrythmic drumming of metal and fire. Isaac steadied himself, using his rifle as a temporary crutch while he struggled back to his feet.



Pain and imbalance lead to nausea. With every gunshot, Isaac felt pressure in his skull and his vision darkened into a cloudy red-black hue. Shielding his eyes with his free hand and squinting, Isaac attempted to make sense out of his surroundings. The windows of the room were shot out completely. Poised like soldiers against the backdrop of smoke and shadow were Nosering and Skullface, each taking turns at firing into the abyss. For several minutes, Isaac couldn’t make out the target. But with each passing moment, as his adrenaline fueled him and the drugs gradually subsided, Isaac could make out humanoid shapes flailing in the dark.

Nosering mouthed something to Skullface who, in turn, made a gesture and looked back at Isaac. Without receiving any response from Isaac, Skullface turned his attention back to the next wave heading toward him. The situation was clear. Either Isaac finds a way to recover or they were going to leave him behind. Regardless, their position was not defensible for much longer.

Drawing in some breaths and ignoring the pain coursing through him, Isaac lifted his weapon and half-limped his way to the door. Immediately, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Defensively, Isaac shoved backward, catching an angry and confused Nosering in the chest. He shook his head angrily and held out his gun for Isaac quite deliberately. With a nod, Isaac shouldered his hunting rifle, grabbed the assault rifle, and watched Nosering make his way toward Sticks, helping him to his feet.

Positioning his shoulder against the doorframe, Isaac looked back at Skullface, who nodded and gestured with his hand to open the door. After a deep breath to focus himself, Isaac pulled the door open and raised the gun, hoping, falsely, for an empty hall. Instead, he found at least four targets turning a corner to rush toward the door. They were fast, which meant they were recently deceased. Soldiers or lab workers, he wondered as he fired Nosering’s rifle into the smoke and darkness. Some of the bullets sank through flesh, dropping two of the targets to the ground. The others pushed up to the door, forcing Isaac to slam it in their faces.

“Lab workers…,” he muttered, before reopening the door and finishing off the targets.

Skullface deftly picked off three more on the other side of the hall before motioning again for Isaac to push ahead. With a nod, Isaac fully opened the door and entered the dimly lit hall. The scent of rotten flesh and burning seeped its way into Isaac’s mask. It was clear that someone had started a fire somewhere. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell which direction it was coming from. Worse, the classroom Isaac emerged from was in a very different part of the school than where he last remembered. Confused and still somewhat dazed, Isaac paced, trying to figure out what direction to go. Luckily, Skullface emerged from the room and motioned Isaac toward a specific direction. Isaac nodded and moved, keeping low and stealthy while weaving around corpses.

For the next few minutes, Isaac wandered blindly until a firm hand stopped him and corrected his direction. This lead him toward a staircase. But instead of going down, as he expected, he was instructed to go up instead. Not being in a place to question, Isaac lead the way up the stairs, halting at the door toward the top. He tugged the heavy door open, encountering an empty hall. After giving an indication to Skullface that it was clear, the tallish and rather skinny man pushed past Isaac and quickly lead the way.

Luckily for Isaac, the carnage of the floor below hadn’t seemed to make its way up here yet. Emergency lights gave the school an eerie glow, revealing months old posters such as “Joni for Class President” and “Madrigals ‘A Journey Through Spain’ 1/15/2018.” Meanwhile, classrooms were re-arranged with military supplies and lab equipment. Skullface checked the window of room 316C carefully, knocking a few times before opening. He then motioned for Isaac and the others to follow.

The room was almost completely black, but Skullface seemed to maneuver his way through it pretty expertly. He grabbed some radios and spent a few minutes setting up their channels before handing them to Nosering, Isaac, and Sticks. Isaac clipped the radio to his jacket and strung the headset up through his mask to his ear, inserting the piece.

Nosering, meanwhile. grabbed some supplies and some flashlights as well as an extra M16. He held it out for Isaac, who swapped it with Nosering’s rifle.

“This is my rifle, this is my gun.” Nosering mused over the radio with a grin and continued searching the room.

Isaac rolled his eyes and checked the room for extra ammo. He quickly loaded the weapon, then cocked it, hearing a heavy slam right afterward. For a moment, Isaac thought he had accidentally pulled the trigger. But the slam didn’t come from the weapon, it came from a room nearby.

“What the fuck was that?” Nosering said.

Skullface made his way to the door and spoke over the radio. “I’ll check it out. Stan, stay with New Guy and Smith.”

“The hell I am. New Guy can handle himself. I’m coming with you.” He argued. But Skullface already left. Nosering grumbled and leaned against a wall, looking out of the classroom window. Isaac was doing the same, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a thin blue glow. Curiously, he made his way toward it. He nudged Sticks aside and knelt in front of what looked like a mini-refrigerator, likely hooked up to the generator. He opened it slowly, shielding his masked eyes with his hand for a moment until they adjusted to the light. Inside, he found a series of syringes, each with labels. He grabbed one and pulled it out, examining it in the light until his eyes could focus on the handwritten letters. Jones, Edward. Isaac returned it and examined some of the others: Browning, Maria; Drebin, Frank; Clarke, Montgomery ; Scott, Stanley.

Inside the syringe was a red-tinted solution. Partially blood, Isaac presumed, but whatever else was added was anyone's guess. Carelessly, he tossed the syringes back into the refrigerator and closed the door, just in time for another loud slam. Not more than a second later, Skullface was on the radio.

“You guys need to get over here right now!” He demanded in a tactically hushed but assertive tone.

The room was spinning and he felt the cold on the open wound beginning to seep in as the blood began to drip all over the tiles around him. He blinked a few times as his eyes finally came somewhat into focus and he looked up to see his attacker crouched holding a gun and he could hear Bri approaching. He tried to free himself without gaining too much attention from the gunman but he was still kind of out of it and the more he struggled the more he felt himself losing consciousness. He had to help her, he had to do something but at the moment he was completely powerless to do anything. He could call out to her, he could warn her of the gun, but what would this guy do if he did that? He could try to tell her to run but would this guy shoot her in the back? He did hit Grant in the back so it's possible. He was getting desperate to step in, he struggled once more to no avail. His eyes began to well as the image of Bri being shot ran through his mind over and over again. He couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't. "Please--" his voice was weak but sincere, "Sir. Please. Don't hurt her." He pleaded. "Tell her to go. Do what you want to me, but please don't hurt her." He didn't know what else to do, he wasn't strong enough to break his bindings and he didn't want to risk her safety by calling to her or allowing her to do something heroic. So he pleaded and stared at the man as he laid in a growing pool of blood becoming dizzier and more light headed by the second. He felt tired, he felt weak, but he fought the urge to close his eyes and sleep until he knew that Bri would be safe. At least for now.

The biography of Eddie Davis Jones was tragically short and simple. It told the story of a man who grew up in Augusta, Maine. He had a reasonably stable middle-class family. His father was the superintendent of a steel plant and his mother was a primary school teacher before she took on the role of a full-time, stay-at-home mother. Eddie's academics were average and took a backseat to his athletic prowess. Eddie's sheer height and size, even by his freshman year of high school, caught the eye of several college football scouts.

By the end of his senior year, Eddie received numerous scholarship offers to play at a number of universities. But, either in spite of or perhaps even as a result of (depending on how a person may feel about the concept of fate and predestination) his tragically trope life, Eddie suffered an injury that destroyed his scholarship and his future career in the sport of football.

Prior to the Terminus release, Eddie Davis Jones worked diligently as a manager at his father's steel plant. He was a hard worker and extremely punctual. But his social life declined after he dropped out of college, leading him to a life of binge drinking and watching professional football. Eddie's friends in the Eastern Front mostly consisted of occasional drinking buddies, who knew Eddie mainly for his knowledge of his favorite football team: the New England Patriots.

Isaac will never know Eddie's story.

As Isaac, Sticks, and Nosering hurried through the darkened halls of Bromfield's third floor, the heavy pounding became a more repetitive series. Gunshots followed, with male voices shouting over each other in-between. When the final corner was turned, Isaac could see Skullface camped in a room at the end of the hall, watching across with his back pressed tightly to the doorway.

Isaac held out his arm for Sticks and Nosering, stopping them short before gesturing a finger to his lips. The two nodded and followed Isaac single-file, clutching their weapons to their chest as they kept low and proceeded down the hall. As they made their way to the room that Skullface was watching from, they gestured to the masked man, to get his attention. He held out his hand, telling them to wait momentarily, before motioning to the room across.

What Isaac saw was horrifying. A tall, broadly-built man stood in a room scattered with the mangled bodies of what appeared to be scientists and nurses. The hospital bed had flung across the room with such a force that whatever was left of its structure was bent and twisted. The man, himself, was covered in fresh blood. But that wasn't what was horrifying. It was his skin...stretched thinly across his bulging muscles, almost as if it was about to tear itself apart. His teeth protruded out as his gums swelled beyond the capacity of his mouth. Each and every vein and artery was as clear as apparent as a topographical map. His muscles bulged, almost double of what they were before, giving him a hulking stature that would have been the envy of many professional body builders.

Isaac had seen this effect before. But not on a human. And not on the living. This man was not one of the dead. His eyes were not vacant and hungry. His eyes were sharp. Livid. He was alive. And he was pissed.

The object of the man's rage stood at the opposite corner of the room, holding a gun. He was dressed in a labcoat. Isaac recognized this man, even in the low lighting. Although his hair was less neat and his spectacles were missing, it was clearly Doctor Harper.

"What the fuck happened to Eddie?" Nosering whispered to Isaac. Isaac, who simply called the tall man "Patriot", had a number of different ideas. All of which pointed to Doctor Harper and, by extension, Doctor Gordon.

"We need to take out Harper and help Eddie." Skullface said.

"No!" Isaac hissed, "It's too late for him. Harper will lead us to Gordon."

"Fuck Gordon!" Nosering spat into the com before looking up at Skullface. "Tell me we're getting the fuck out of here right now!"

Skullface was expressionless, save for the boney grin imprint that covered the lower-half of his face. "I'm not leaving Eddie behind."

All the meanwhile, Harper was calling out to the monstrosity that Isaac called "Patriot". The monster eyed the gun as well as the man wielding it. He began to pace, testing the armed man's resolve like a linebacker testing the resolve of the quarterback. Isaac wasn't much of a sports man, but on this play, he would certainly have put money down for a blitz.

Harper, in spite of his smugness, was visibly trembling. His finger was slipping on the trigger with each provocation. With one final lunge, Patriot gave a deep, throaty roar that sounded more like a bear than a human. It was a sound that sent a familiar chill down Isaac's spine. Isaac raised his weapon and opened fire, releasing a burst of shots toward the exposed spine of Patriot. But the monstrous form overtook the boney Doctor Harper with a terrifying blur. The scientist was allowed a yip of a scream and a panicked squeeze of his own trigger before the linebacker sacked him through a wall. The two of them disappeared into the smokey darkness.

False start, Isaac would later muse to himself as he thought back on it. Five yard penalty.

"Shit shit shit shit shit!" Nosering's voice exclaimed over the radio in between bursts of breaths. The group of four chased the rampaging Patriot through the hole in the wall only to encounter a score of freshly infected staff and patients blocking their path. For the moment, it seemed the risen were distracted with the hulking entree that had passed through. This gave Isaac enough time to inspect the remains of the mutilated form of Doctor Harper, whose spine and shoulders appeared to have been liquified.

"He's dead, New Guy," hissed the voice of Skullface. "We need to catch Eddie."

Isaac paid him little heed. He frantically searched Harper's jacket, carefully avoiding the blood-soaked spots. From the lab coat pockets, Isaac procured several items: gum wrappers, a key fab, an ID card, and most importantly, a tinted syringe with a fresh label: Singh, Isaac.

Isaac stood, examining the syringe for a moment. But the group wasn't going to wait. Nosering patted Isaac's shoulder and gestured toward a fire exit. Pocketing the syringe, Isaac nodded slowly and made his way to the exit, testing the door for excessive heat before opening it.

Smoke from the lower floors were billowing upward. Hesitantly, Isaac made his way back down the stairs. Following closely behind him was Sticks, with Nosering behind him protectively. Skullface held up the back of the line, slowly closing the door behind him so as to not attract the horde.

"Okay, okay. Can we just discuss what the fuck just happened for a minute?" Nosering said over the radio.

"No." Skullface and Isaac replied in unison.

"Fine..." Nosering muttered before patting Sticks on the shoulder. "How are you holding up, buddy?"

The trembling figure jumped at the pat, but he took some deep breaths. "Eddie..."

"Don't worry about Eddie," Nosering said, "He's tough. Whatever shit they've got him on, he'll shake it."

Sticks looked up at Nosering, then at Skullface. Skullface gave a nod of assurance. But Isaac knew better. There was no turning back once you've been turned. And if Isaac's instincts were right about Skullface, he knew that the man was starting to come to grips with that fact.

The group made their way down to the second floor. However, the smoke and heat pouring up the stairs from the first floor was too unbearable to risk pushing further. They would have to find another way down.

Carefully, Isaac opened the door leading to the second floor. The hall was filled with smoke and silhouettes of bodies lumbered about.

"What's it look like?" Skullface asked.

"Crowded and low visibility." Isaac replied.

Skullface cursed under his breath. He paused silently. Isaac could almost hear his thoughts as the man calculated each risk. The first floor was almost certainly a death trap and going back the way they came, with the halls as packed as they were, was not a better option. "We proceed quickly but cautiously. Keep a few feet of distance apart. If one of us gets picked off, end it quickly. You got it? No hesitation."

Silence. Stillness. Skullface spoke up again, "I need a confirmation."

"We got it." Nosering confirmed, in an uncharacteristically serious tone.

"Smith?" Skullface said.

"I'm good. I'm okay, Bill." Replied Sticks.

"Good. New Guy?"

"Ready." Isaac said. He drew in a deep breath.

After a moment's pause, during which Isaac could make out the subtle sound of a prayer, Skullface's voice barked out strongly, "Go!"

The team moved like a perfectly trained unit. Even Sticks, who had been rendered nearly incapacitated with fear minutes prior, had found an inner sense of preservation that honed his instincts. Isaac crouched low as he proceeded down the hall, keeping his spacing from Sticks. His breathing was audibly heavy in his mask, as was the pounding in his head. But his eyes were sharp. With his adrenaline overpowering the remnants of the drugs, Isaac had managed to tap into a mechanical state of being that he had experienced many times before over the past few months. Three times in the mountains. Once at a FEMA camp. And once more as he infiltrated and single-handedly overpowered the manned defenses of the Eastern Front. Isaac became a survival machine. Cold. Ruthless. Efficient.

The first wave of bodies, the one known to the group, crumbled quickly. Their flesh and fluids melted like butter at the spray of hot gunfire. Their limbs flailed uselessly before the bodies toppled. With careful weaves and little time to finish off the threats, the group dodged the fallen and continued onward.

Fleshy bodies hurled themselves toward Sticks. But with the adequate spacing, he was able to maneuver away while Nosering repelled and disabled the body. Isaac and Skullface held off until the Sticks was ready again and they pressed onward.

As the risen began to notice the shots and the living coming closer, they began to frenzy. Isaac and Sticks knelt in their spots, covering a 180 degree angle with semi-automatic fire while Nosering and Skullface stood, covering the rear 180.

"Advance!" Skullface shouted in-between flashes of gunfire. Feeling the burn in his quads, Isaac crept forward, with the group keeping the same formation. Glass crashed over Isaac as hands reached out to grab. He quickly rolled forward and spun, letting a three-shot burst rip through the air, cutting just above Sticks' head and causing him to freeze. But as Isaac recoiled, he could feel his backside come in contact with cold flesh. His heart stopped. His hand trembled. And for a moment, his machine came to a cold stop.

A force that shook the walls and ground reignited the spark for Isaac and ultimately saved his life. As a hole was ripped through the wall behind him, the risen who was moments away from turning Isaac was flung, with Isaac sprawling out in a different direction. His hands slid along the ground, catching on edges of stone and glass as he gazed toward the smokey direction of the hole.

There, he found a towering figure of a man-turned-beast, standing over Nosering and Skullface. Its breaths were loud and audible, even despite the deafening that close-range gunfire had caused. From the corner of his eye, Isaac caught Sticks crawling backward. Meanwhile, the leftover risen had turned away from the group and, instead, made their way toward Patriot. With a frightening roar, the Patriot beast raised its arms and swung, batting the bodies away as if they were toys. Nosering and Skullface hastily retreated back toward the stairs. With the beast and the horde separating the group, Isaac made his way back to his feet and grabbed Sticks' arm, pulling him to his feet.

Sticks clung to him desperately, pulling him down, but with another tug, Isaac managed to bring him back up. "Move!"